When I Look At You
by Shinoda Senshi
Summary: While the cameras are away, The Brothers of Destruction come out to play. A sequel to In Between, but can stand alone. *Warning: Contains m/m relationship with siblings. Meaning incest. Brotherly love. Get it while it's hot.*


**Author's Note**: This is a sequel (of sorts) to In Between. It can stand on its own, but reading the predecessor wouldn't hurt. Plus, you might really enjoy it. At least, I hope so... ^__^ Oh, and this story contains slash and incest. Too bad there's not twins involved... Ah, well... If you don't like this kind of story then... I really don't know what you're doing reading my stuff. Anyway, if you no-likey, then please no-ready. Thank you and good day.

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**When I Look At You**

Calling my brother odd is like calling the Grand Canyon a great big hole in the ground. Actually, it _is_ just a great big hole in the ground. Not that it exactly cares what you call it. It's this enormous thing that just exists, sitting silently while the world gapes at it in awe.

Much like Kane.

Not that I'm comparing him to one of the world's wonders. Or maybe I am. He's scrambled my brain so much in the last few weeks, I don't know whether I'm coming or going. Most days, though, I'm coming.

That boy… That boy…

That boy will be the death of me if I don't kill him first.

"Kane, where the hell are we going?"

"Bathroom."

That's all he gives me. Like that one word explains it all.

There are an almost outrageous number of restrooms in the arena. I can't swing a cat and not bash it into one of them. Not that I'm in the habit of swinging cats. It was just the one time and I paid the fine and swore never to do it again.

For reasons known only to himself he chooses the most far off, out of the way bathroom in the place. I mean, we're halfway to Never Never Land.

"I don't know about you, boy-o, but my bladder don't discriminate. There was a toilet right by our locker room."

Along with sharing hotel rooms, The Powers That Be have also deemed fit for Kane and I to change together. Basically, we spend just about every waking hour in each other's company. The near-constant companionship has its perks. Kane's neatness borders on obsessive-compulsive. He'd rather clean up after me than wait for me to do it myself.

Kinda puts that "screwing the maid" fantasy in a whole new light. Not that I _ever_ pictured Kane in some French maid's outfit. That would be sick.

Now… as for the half-naked pool boy…

"That one's no good," he says, not slowing a step. "I found a better one."

The only interior design program I've ever put stock in was Bob Villa's This Old House. So, as far as I'm concerned, a bathroom is a bathroom is a bathroom. As long as it flushes and has a sufficient supply of toilet tissue, he should be able to go about his business with little to no problem.

Kane's "better" bathroom is on the lowest level, at the rear of the arena. I half expect to find the walls and floor tiled with gold and faucets made of solid silver. But it's just a men's room. Just like all other men's rooms we passed on the way down.

I figure he wants me to wait outside since I'm not the type to linger in the men's room. I figure wrong. Clapping a hand on my shoulder, he steers me to the very last stall.

I don't have to go. And, even if I did, I am well beyond the age of needing assistance.

For an average-sized man, these are cramped quarters. My shoulders rub against the chipped paint on the sides of the stall and I can just about peer over the partition. If I were in the unfortunate situation of having to sit on the toilet, I'm pretty sure I'd gouge my eyes out with my own kneecaps.

Why would Kane pick a bathroom where he'd have to step outside to change his mind?

And why is he in this stall with me?

"Kane?"

"Yeah?" Even though I'm facing the wall, I know he's smiling. This boy has something diabolical in mind. Which is why I love him so much.

"Whatcha doin'?" I ask.

"Nothin'… Yet…" Yup. Definitely diabolical. "Turn around."

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I only come in one size."

"There's a dirty joke in there somewhere. I just can't find it."

Horny bastard. "My point is…"

He cuts me off. "I don't care about your point," he says. "I need you to turn around."

_Arrogant_, horny bastard! If I could move my arms properly, I'd smack him upside his pointy little head.

Somehow, he manages to get my back pressed against one of the sides of the stall. Defying logic as well as physics, he squeezes in with me. The two of us face each other with barely an inch of space between us.

"Kane?"

"Yeah?" He's definitely smiling now. I can see it. It's one I've become very familiar with over the last few days. It's the one that usually means I'm about to get it.

"Where's your mask?"

Still smiling, he tilts his head. It's hanging on the door, the metal hook poking grotesquely through one of the eye holes.

There was a time when being trapped in a small space with my lunatic of a brother would fill me with nervous tension. My mind would race, running through a dozen questions in a matter of seconds. What was he plotting? When would be spring the trap? How badly am I gonna have to beat his ass afterwards?

Violence usually begat violence in those good old days.

Our current relationship asserts itself as he grasps my belt buckle.

In a tone that would weaken the knees and stop the heart of a lesser man, he rumbles, "You are a bad, bad man."

"Yes, I am. Every damn day of my life."

The urgent tug on my buckle reestablishes Kane's control over the situation. Kane yields for no man. Not even me. The last time I tried to run roughshod over his decision I ended up handcuffed to the headboard. I have no clue where the boy got handcuffs and he refused to tell me. No matter how much I threatened. Being spread eagle, buck naked on the bed did not leave me with much in the way of leverage.

"I happen to know for a fact, Mr. Deadman, that you don't have on any drawers under those leather pants."

The reason I have on leather pants is Kane once said I looked like a sex god with them on. Which is why I wear them every chance I get.

And when your lover calls you a sex god, you tend to go without drawers so there's one less obstacle in the way.

A decision which appears to be paying off. With the ease that only comes from frequent practice, Kane undoes my belt buckle. His blue eyes blaze with smoldering intensity. Trust me. My brother knows a thing or two about smoldering.

"Kane?"

"Yeah?" He runs his perfect pink tongue across his lips and I momentarily forget what I was going to say. The boy's barely got his hands on me and my brain goes on vacation.

My few remaining cells rally together. "We're in a men's room."

"And here I thought you were just a pretty face."

If not for the fact that it would hinder the amazing encounter that is soon to come, I would headbutt him. "_Why_ are we in a men's room?"

On the elaborate list of places I'd like to get my rocks off, this falls right above the Port-A-Potty at the Hoover Dam. Beside Kane's elbow, some genius has scribbled "Here I sit, broken-hearted". Not exactly the appropriate setting for a romantic encounter.

Granted, the closest he and I have gotten to romance is splitting a pizza and letting him have my crusts.

Kane's answer to my question is simple yet effective. "Because I want you."

Works for me.

Belt buckle unbuckled, pants button unbuttoned, zipper unzippered, and…

There's no air in the room. Where it's gone, I have no way of telling. All I know is I can't breathe with his fingers playing across me like this. And that's just what he's doing. Playing with me. Teasing me with the soft flicker of his fingers when he knows I need the full contact stroke. A good and proper one with his fingers wrapped tight and his palm so hot on my skin I swear the print of it is seared onto my dick.

As soon as the air returns and I can pull it into my lungs, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind. Assuming there's anything left of it to give.

"Do you want me to take it out?"

Yes, you sadistic son of a bitch!

I swear, if he makes me beg for it, I'm never letting him touch me again. Well, not never. He's too good to quit. But maybe a month. A full thirty days without me would be like a death sentence. Or a week. Yes, a week sounds better. Any longer and it would be cruel. Who knows what he'd do to himself if he didn't have me. Seven days is just long enough…

One day. One day is all I need to get my point across.

Who am I kidding? I'm such a slut for this man!

After several good and proper strokes, I'm pretty sure I've got drool running down my chin. There's that perfect combination of pressure and friction. He hits just the right tempo, speeding up to get my heart racing only to slow it down and _squeeze_, keeping me on the very edge of rapture.

Like standing at the ridge of the Grand Canyon and staring down into the vastness. It pulls at you with a force rivaling gravity. You can almost feel yourself slipping, tipping over. And some small, insane part of you yearns for that drop into oblivion.

Through heavy-lidded eyes, I watch him close the gap between us. I have the presence of mind to maneuver my head to make the joining of our lips possible. Squashed noses are strictly for amateurs. Kane is a top-notch, A1 kisser. I've had my share of both the good and the bad, so I know what I'm talking about.

Soft lips, just the right amount of give-and-take in the tongue department, and a hot mouth. That inferno, that _volcano_ of a mouth has provided a blissful end to every night we've shared together. He's got the perfect formula of heat, moisture, and suction that has made me his sex slave for the foreseeable future.

On every upward stroke, he caresses the head of my cock. First with a glancing graze with his palm, then the maddening rub of his thumb against the tip. Up, down, back and forth. Over and over until I'm left shuddering and gasping for breath. The only air available to me is what is expelled from Kane's lungs and blasted across my lips. I swallow it greedily.

I am so hungry for him. It defies all explanation.

In all honesty, there was a time when I didn't know if he was alive or dead and I really didn't care either way. Our battles were brutal and bloody. I thought nothing of throwing him into the fiercest, most fiery put in Hell.

Now, I need to feel him first thing in the morning, even if it's just a passing swipe on the way to the bathroom. Otherwise, I'm in a foul mood for the rest of the day. I want to kiss him, touch him, fuck him. Make him laugh, make him moan, make him come. He's mine and I'm his and that's all that matters.

He murmurs against my mouth, "I wanna try something." At least, that's what I think he says. Frankly, I can't understand how he can talk with his tongue inside my head.

A slight shift in his stance. The unmistakable sound of a zipper changing direction. A sigh, providing more air for me to feast on. Something warm bumps against my shaft.

I disengage our locked lips and tongues to find Kane has released his own erection from the confines of his jeans. Not only is it pointing proudly towards the ceiling. Kane's rocking his hips, forcing our cocks to rub together. It's dirty and beautiful and I can't stop watching.

Kane rests his head on my shoulder as he sets the rhythm. "I've always wanted to do this." His voice is soft and deep, like velvet. "I never dreamed it could feel this good."

I can only nod. I am transfixed by every shift and grind. My body moves on its own. Responding to Kane's thrusts, attempting to keep the friction just right. Our sweat and scents mingle as we slip and slide in this tiny cubicle. We've never been this close, this intimate.

God, I can _feel_ him!

Wanting more, _needing_ more, I clutch his ass and pull him closer.

"_Fuck, yeah_," he groans and I know he wants this, too.

Our hips move faster. Twice we almost lose the rhythm, but manage to get it back. More pressure. The energy between us builds. It wouldn't surprise me to see sparks flickering like little bolts of static electricity. Worry me quite a bit, yes. But not be surprising in the least.

There's no turning back. There's no way we can stop. Not when we're so close.

Standing on the edge, staring into the void, it's amazing the things I notice. The almost painful prickle of Kane's whiskers across my cheek. The silky smoothness of the skin beneath my fingers. The deep red hue of Kane's pubic hair nestled at the base of his cock.

He is so beautiful. Beautiful and mine and I want to make him come. I want to feel his spunk rush up from his balls and spill down our hard lengths.

I find my voice, urging him to take the plunge. "Come on, beautiful. Come for me. Let me feel it. Let me see it."

"I can't." He's panting and shaking. "I'm so close but I just can't… I just need…" A giant gulp of air followed by a moan. "I need you to touch me… Please… Please touch me…"

I love him. I cannot refuse him. I don't have to ask where. I know what he needs.

My fingers spread his ass cheeks. Lightly, I circle and stroke his hole before sliding a digit in deep. The muscles tighten; his back arches.

Then he's gone.

Down, down into that deep chasm so full of light and sound it overwhelms the senses. Time stands still on that trip down the rabbit hole. No past. No future. Just the glorious moment between life and death, the deep breath and the scream.

This is my drug of choice. I'm addicted to this man, this rollercoaster ride.

That first drop of Kane's come trickling down my cock sends me off on my own journey to Wonderland.

Kane kisses me back to reality. I'm soiled and sweaty and my back aches. I need a shower and supper. Although not necessarily in that order.

We right our clothing as best we can. There's no mistaking the come stains on our shirts. Hopefully, we can make it back to our locker room unnoticed.

Kane smirks at me as he adjusts his mask in the mirror.

"What?"

Grinning full blast, he chuckles, "You called me beautiful."

**END**

_When I look at you... I wanna get a room... I wanna get a room..._


End file.
